Plan B
by ApollinaV
Summary: She was given a book, a tent, and a half-cocked plan to save the entire Wizarding world, but Hermione Granger had other ideas.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

The tent flap wrenched back abruptly as Harry stormed in, one hand pulled angrily through his hair, the other clenched in a fist. I stayed quiet as he railed and gesticulated wildly to Ron about whatever lackluster grievance he'd been stewing over. Unending days of mind-numbing tedium were reaching a critical boiling point, I could sense it in both of the boys, hell, even I wanted to do something even if just for the sake of doing something, but at least I had the good sense to realize the futility of such draining thoughts. One should never go off half cocked about their mayhem; it only results in piss poor bedlam. And really, if you're going to court disaster and chaos it should be done in a proper and seemly manner. In a 'steal big or not at all' world it made no sense to muck things up just a wee bit.

I cleared my throat mid-tirade and interrupted Harry's rant with something that sounded suspiciously like _'hem hem.'_ Dear gods was I channeling pure evil as well? "Harry, give me the locket."

He spun, his darting eyes drinking me in, seemingly surprised by my presence in the room, his mouth was still twisted open from his rant.

"The locket," I repeated in a bored tone, stretching out my hand to receive the offending artifact.

He grumbled and shuffled annoyed at having to give up his 'precious,' but nevertheless handed it over with ill-disguised bad grace. I pocketed the soul-infused antique, calmly retuned my book to its place on the makeshift shelf and faced the boys.

"I'm going out to fetch us some dinner." I held up a hand to delay any protests, but none came. Mushy berries and shriveled mushrooms made for a most unappetizing meal, the boys must have assumed that whatever I brought back to the hovel would be a feast in comparison.

Grabbing my bag as I pulled back the tent flap I gave the boys one last tender parting glance. A mental snapshot in case my plans for utter anarchy and revolution died a horrible and ignoble death. I did not want to remember them this way. Half starved and at each other's throats, but it was our grim reality.

Walking briskly past the outer wards I concentrated on disapperating. And arrived with a wince at my loud 'pop.' My arrival would have been much quieter had I been here before, but as I've only managed to find pictures of this place in a twenty year old wizarding genealogy book, the fact that I arrived in one piece at all was miraculous.

I crouched low before running for a bush. The entrance to the Malfoy Manor hadn't changed much in those decades, the stone wall surrounding the property was still impossibly high, and the wrought iron gate revealed a long meticulously manicured lawn that ended with a disgustingly pretentious home. I snickered when I saw it. Mum had always pointed out that therein laid the difference between old and new money. The old guard lived comfortably away from prying eyes while the nouveau riche wanted their status symbols to be seen from the streets. How tacky. I was heartily amused that once again the Malfoy family had proved that money did not equate class. But then I was also of the opinion that Severus Snape, the welder's son, had more class in his non-wand hand than the whole bloody lot of 'em.

As for the Malfoy eyesore itself, I of course didn't need a book to tell me that the place was heavily warded, or that there would be ugly little traps for ugly little muggleborns like myself. Although, to put a blunt point on it, there were probably traps for all interlopers regardless of bloodstatus.

God only knows what my fate would be if I tried to actually knock. I can see the headline now, 'So-called Cleverest Witch of her Age Hermione Granger Dies a Bloody Death after she Stupidly Attempted Breaking and Entering' by Rita Skeeter. Editorial: Muggleborn Menaces; are they natural born thieves and criminals? See Page Four for a Shocking Exposé on Granger's Love Life!

I cleared my head of such inanities, pinched a pebble, and lobbed it at the stone wall. Twenty stones later a house elf appeared.

"I'd like an audience with Draco," I announced, dusting my hands off on my jeans. The brown elf gave me a jeering frown, apparently disgusted with my presence. Who knew elves could be shits on their own? Maybe the Malfoys just rubbed off like that. "Please let Draco know that Granger awaits his arrival, that he should come alone, and if he doesn't cooperate there will be serious repercussions."

It was a silly threat, but one that I knew Draco would respond to. He always gave me too much credit, and seemed to think that I held more sway than I do. Merely stating 'there will be serious repercussions' was much better than an actual threat that he could actually counter. Not that I had anything on him, mind you, but the imagination is a powerful tool. I waited patiently and was rewarded when I didn't have to wait too long.

Draco arrived wearing casual faded quiddich robes, his obligatory poncy sneer, and a curious gleam in his eye. And saints be praised, he didn't bring the cavalry… yet. Ah, so curiosity wins the day where threats do not. An interesting piece of information about Mr. Malfoy to tuck away for later.

"Granger," he greeted tersely. I returned the greeting with a cold nod. "What brings you here, and without your Gryffindor posse to back you up?"

I rolled my eyes, I just couldn't help myself. I mean seriously? Was this the best insult he could manage?

"I need Snape." The startled look that crumpled his disdainful features was worth the trip. Malfoy is so easy to throw off balance, it's no longer sporting. "You either know where he is, or I suspect you're hiding him. Regardless, I need to meet with him."

"Yeah right," he chuffed coolly running his hand through his perfect tresses, but his subtle shift in weight from one foot to the other betrayed his nervousness. "Like I'd hand him over to you even if I knew where he was. How stupid do you really think I am?"

"I don't think you're stupid. I've never underestimated you Malfoy, so let me spell it out for you. And when you come to the correct conclusions, you'll get Snape for me." I challenged him with my eyes, but already knew I had him hooked. He was hooked the moment I arrived. Sworn enemies just don't show up unexpectedly without perking any interest.

"I am working on a way to destroy your beloved Dark Lord," I began in my most annoyingly Gryffindor voice because he expected blunt stupid honesty. And really it was something they already knew. It wasn't any secret that we'd been trying to kill the evil bastard since before he even became corporeal. "I need Snape's help. Now either you'll send him in my direction because you wouldn't mind seeing your big bad lizard-wizard gone, or you'll send him to infiltrate and report back. I'll leave it up to you to decide why you're going to help, but you'll do it."

He sneered which was to be expected, and was it just me that the sneer didn't seem quite so sneerful? "Really, I'm just going to help you like that, just because you asked? Turn him over to you lot to hex, you must be joking, or perhaps you're the stupid one. Tell me Granger, is fucking a Weasley like injecting stupid?" He chuckled at his own joke as if it were funny.

"I can threaten you if you prefer."

"I don't see how," sniffed ever the prissy boy.

I shrugged casually before deadpanning, "You shed."

"I what?"

"Shed," I repeated slowly as if he was slow himself, which in a way is true. "You know your hair."

"And?"

"Geez o' flip Malfoy, do I have fucking spell everything out for you? I have samples of your hair. I'm a witch. I can brew polyjuice potion, in fact I brewed it successfully back in second year. I'm not sure what I'll do with it yet, but I'm a creative gal, I can come up with lots of ideas. Maybe I'll circulate photos of you snogging Harry, or eating at McDonalds, or maybe I'll just pitch a hissy fit in the middle of Hogsmeade and cry uncontrollably. Honestly I don't know, but I will make it as public and humiliating as possible. Now, are you going to get Snape for me or not?"

Malfoy was standing stock still and quiet. Again, the imagination is a wonderful tool.

"I'll talk to him about it," he mumbled.

"Good." I held out a small round mirror, "give him this."

Please consider leaving a review. Schmootches! AV


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

Chapter 2

Three days later the mirror in my back pocket burned. Ron was sprawled out on one of the cots; Harry was out wandering the woods or more likely off wanking, and nobody noticed my high-pitched yelp as it burned me in the ass. In retrospect it wasn't the smartest idea I've ever had. Running for the loo I pried the closed circuit mirror out of my snug jeans and stared at the black and foreboding face of my ex-professor. His eyes were narrowed menacingly at me, but the entire effect was quite diluted via mirror.

"Miss Granger," he hissed sibilantly. "I think you had better explain yourself."

"Of course Sir," I said with as much false enthusiasm as I could muster. Appearing like a cheerful know-it-all schoolgirl was my stock in trade. People expected it; it was a persona that people found comfortable and easy to like. Well, most people, current company excluded. All that aside, most people found the predictable happy schoolgirl disarming and easy to overlook, which of course is just fine with me.

"I've decided to go off board Sir."

"What?" The incredulous way he uttered that one word was enough to tug a genuine smile from my lips. I do so love putting people off kilter. And yet nobody listens when Ron claims that I'm mental.

"I'm tired of all this. Camping really isn't my style."

"How unfortunate for you."

"At any rate, I've decided that I'm sick of all of this. Waiting for the final battle. Waiting for Harry to be ready. Trying to figure out all the nonsensical clues Dumbledore left us. It's stupid, and it's pointless and I don't want to play anymore."

"Indeed?"

"So I'm changing the game. I've decided to forgo the Final Battle and just kill Voldy myself."

His arched eyebrow was kinda sexy in a deadly and psychotic sort of way. But it hinted that he was curious, and curiosity was a good thing. Indeed.

"You're just going to kill him?" he asked with a smug note of disbelieving.

"Well of course I have a plan," I countered obnoxiously.

"Of course you do," he echoed. "Far for me to believe that the ever insufferable Miss Granger would embark on any tickle-brained scheme without a plan."

I remained quiet. I let the pause work up his inner curiosity, because there was no doubt he was interested, but the more information he had at this early stage the more he'd be apt to just walk away once his curiosity was sated.

"And you need me, Miss Granger," he drawled, "a Deatheater? The Headmaster's notorious double-crossing spy? The Headmaster's executioner?"

"I don't need your loyalty Snape. I need your expertise. Few know the dark arts as well as you do." I let that statement hang out there, lingering. Hopefully enticing.

Whatever reaction mentioning dark arts had it didn't show. I couldn't see a single muscle twitch, but then again, I couldn't see his hands either. Somehow I imagined them clenched in fists which seemed to fit his mood.

I ploughed on again. "I've charmed this mirror to activate as a portkey; it'll take us to a neutral location. If you're interested, or rather if you and your Dark Lord are interested in knowing more, let's meet face to face."

After a breath catching moment he nodded in acquiescence. I listened at the door to hear if the boys had stirred at all. No, not a thing. I could probably disappear for a few hours with raising any kind of alarm.

"Well?" I asked trying to keep the hesitancy out of my voice. Trying to sound self assured, and as if I knew what I was doing.

"What assurances do I have that your portkey won't deliver me straight to the Order?"

"You don't," I said softly. "I'm sorry, but I doubt that there's anything I can tell you that'll give you assurance. You'll just have to trust that I want to end this more than I want to string you up."

Funny how truthful that statement was.

"I'll meet with you Miss Granger," he spoke stiffly.

"Now?" I asked hopefully.

His jaw clenched, and I just knew he was clenching his fists for certain this time, but he relaxed and nodded.

With a circular swish and flick I tapped the mirror, whispered _portus_ and activated both portkeys.

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Please consider leaving a review. Schmootches! AV


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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Chapter 3 - Possession is 9/10ths of the law.

Suction. It feels as if one is being drawn through a vacuum cleaner to travel by portkey. Of course that might just be my muggle brain rationalizing it out. But as I skidded to a halt, even though by all appearances I simply 'plopped' in the midst of my living room, I still felt the feeling of perpetual movement in my body. Thus proving that even in the wizarding world Newton's law of inertia still applied. A minor triumph.

Snape arrived similarly, though perhaps not as harassed looking. Honestly, the man could look perfectly composed in the midst of a waterspout. He glared at my middle class living room as if he could intimidate the furniture, but it was obvious that he was also looking for deception... or perhaps for Harry to pop out from behind the overstuffed ottoman. Really was he still expecting deception at this point? Wasn't I the vulnerable party? He could probably hex me six ways to Sunday before I could draw my wand.

I signaled for us to move into the back kitchen. For some reason sitting around the kitchen having a cozy chat, or the illusions of a cozy chat, while plotting destruction and mayhem struck me as being ideal. Mum and I always had our best conversations sitting on the counter tops. I internally winced as the painful feeling of being separated from those I loved washed over me. Best not to think of that now.

We walked into the delightfully cheery retro 1950s inspired kitchen, the black and white tile floors gleaming smartly, and I sank ungracefully into my seat at the table. Snape took the seat typically occupied by my father. His eyes lingered momentarily on the kitchen witch hanging over the sink, but mercifully he made no comment. I mean honestly, how was I supposed to explain that bizarre muggle custom of having a witch doll to protect pots from burning?

We hadn't said a word to each other and he was studying me intently. There was very little point for small talk. He already knew my family had been evacuated and the house was empty. All of that happened before his betrayal. He would never have asked me how my day was, or comment on how frighteningly unseasonable this summer has been. No, I suppose it was best to get right to it.

I fished around beneath my shirt, drawing a curious look from the man seated across from me, though I seriously doubt he was checking me out. Instead I pulled out the locket and held it up by my fingers close enough for him to examine, but far enough away that he wouldn't be tempted to touch.

"This," I said in my best analytical voice, "is an antique that once belonged to the Slytherin family, though I'm not certain who. I have a hard time picturing that Salazar himself wore such dainty things."

Ah, a hard implacable glare. We were getting someplace. Or at least I was cutting through the bored look of disinterest he sported.

"It also happens to be a horcrux."

Well there was a different reaction. Hmm… so Snape doesn't know about these. Interesting. He looked like a deer in headlights. I wish the Creevys were here to capture the Kodak moment. Caption: Snape befuddled.

"Which explains just how your Master keeps popping up, uninvited I might add. We figure that he's split his soul into seven pieces. Or at least that's what Dumbledore hypothesized. Me? I'm not too certain and I'd rather not take the chance that there are any more of the little buggers floating around to summon basilisks, or raise armies of darkness, or whatever."

I smiled as I had Snape's full and complete attention.

"The point being, I rather wish him dead. Completely. Right now the boys and I are running around aimlessly trying to solve the riddle, pardon the pun, of where he dropped the pieces of his grotty soul, and I have to say I don't like it one bit. I want what's behind door number two."

Hmm… lost him with that one. Time to just go in for the kill and see how he reacts. "It suffices to say that I have determined a way to kill the bastard once and for all without any big melodramatic showdown, and I'd like your help."

I held my breath, searching his unfathomable eyes for some kind of reading. A sign was too much to hope for, but maybe, just maybe I'd get a reading off this guy. Something to tell me he was still interested. It did cross my mind that he was loyal without a fault to Voldyshorts, but I doubt that seriously.

Just because he killed the Headmaster didn't mean he wouldn't willingly take the chance to kill his other Master. Like I said before, I didn't need him loyal to the Order.

It would actually be best if the Order had no idea about my plotting. They pulled the party line so tightly that they were unable to consider other options, other methodologies. They were so close-minded and impractical. Whoever thought that running a war by way of a committee should have been summarily shot. And Dumbledore who devised this harebrained plan (that sent me tromping through the woods with only a children's bedtime book to guide me), spoke to the Order from beyond the grave in that even in death, his word was absolute. Obviously, he had no idea how much I detested the woods. Or how much I hate with unending passion mosquitoes. Honestly, if hunting horcruxes could have been accomplished while staying at the Four Seasons there was a chance I might have played along with the Headmaster's plan.

But as it is, I cannot.

"How?" he said archly.

"Before I can answer that I need your sworn oath that you won't divulge any information from this point forward. I could care less if you let your Snake God know what I'm up to, not that it'll do him any good, but if I can't have your commitment from here on out, I need your silence."

I held up a preprepared parchment with the oath I'd written to be as airtight as possible. And to my ever-loving joy and satisfaction he read the damn thing verbatim. Swirling essence of shimmering oath and all. It was nearly enough to squeal like a little girl.

"Now," he intoned in his bored and surly voice, "What precisely do you have planned Miss Granger. I can ill afford to waste my time here."

I pulled a tattered copy of a dark arts tomb filched from the Black library from my handbag and dropped it between us on the table with not a hint of revulsion. Snape just glanced idly at the title unimpressed. I flipped to page 342 and pointed my finger half way down the text.

"I own his soul," I stated. "It's in my possession." For good measure I lifted the locket again. "It doesn't matter that his soul is fragmented, a fragmented soul is still a soul, and this belongs to me. Ergo, I can sell it."

Snape's eyes widened to where I could see every bit of his dark impenetrable eyes opened so clearly I could drop into them. Had I been a legilimens he would have been an easy target.

"To a demon?" he asked hoarsely.

I nodded and repeated, "To a demon. Once the demon owns the soul he will collect the other pieces. As I'm told demons are rather ruthless and possessive of their souls. I have no doubt that a demon will be able to hunt down whatever horcruxes still exist, and if there's any justice at all in the world, take your Master into the depths of hell with him."

The air between us was thick with whirling thoughts and calculations. I nearly thought I'd lost the deal when he spoke up again, softly this time.

"What would you have me do Miss Granger?"

"Help me. Help me call this demon and sell this damned soul. After that we both walk away. I'll tell the Order, the Wizengamot, or anyone else you'd like me to inform of your help. Hell, I'll even take out a full page in the _Prophet_ extolling your virtues if you'd prefer. But by then we'd both be free to walk away. Let me end this now."

Though I didn't expect it, Snape picked up the book and began reading. After the first five minutes I left him to it. I'm not sure why I expected him plow headlong into my idea as if he'd summoned hundreds of demons hundreds of times, but the fact that he appeared to be carefully doing his homework as I had was strangely reassuring. I had heard he knew more about the dark arts than most dark wizards, and oddly I couldn't think of the man as dark, but somehow I expected this was to be easy for him. And yet, from the deeply pinched lines on his face, it was obviously not.

Whether it was the act of drawing a demon that worried him, or defying his master that vexed him I could not tell. But he was taking my suggestion seriously, and that heartened me more than anything else. When the evening approached I reentered the kitchen to find Snape still running through the book, he had several pages marked by a shredded napkin. And I didn't bother him. Instead I turned to the pantry and rummaged for tins and dry goods that would make a decent meal for the boys. Once I had everything assembled I turned to him and cleared my throat.

Snape looked up startled by me and the passing of time as twilight descended. My how similar we were in the quirkiest of ways. Not that it mattered.

"I have to return to the boys. You can keep the book if you'd like, though I'm sure you have more just like it."

"Miss Granger you insult me if you believe I've ever read one of these texts with the intent to damn a soul to immeasurable suffering."

"Of course, I didn't mean to imply that, only that I expect you had a much better library to your disposal."

He seemed to accept that response, though why he should get upset by the idea that I thought poorly of him before boggles my mind. Surely he'd heard the rumors about him, rumors propagated by his own House. I only hope that he's offended not because it's an insult, but because it's an insult from someone he respects. Not that it was meant as an insult at all, but then he's the thin skinned one apparently.

"Call me if you need me." Sheepishly I dropped my hand as I realized I was making the muggle hand signal for holding a phone to an ear. Sometimes I astound myself with how stupid I can be.

Snape grunted, already back into the book and probably hadn't seen my silly gesture. Well, maybe that was a sign from the heavens that my mission was blessed. Although, ecumenically speaking my proposal was at the very least worth a one way ticket to hell. 'Morally ambiguous,' I corrected myself. Avoiding the so-called Final Battle would save countless lives.

I apparated to the forest somewhere close to the vicinity where the tent should be, not that I could see it, and proceeded to play a game of _Marco - Polo_ with Harry's disembodied voice until I found the entrance. The boy's questions about where I had gotten off to hushed when they saw food. Thank providence that teenage boys are so easily distracted.

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*Thanks for staying with me, please leave a review, AV


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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Chapter 4

Snape contacted me several times over the following two weeks; always to say that he'd dropped more reference books for my perusal off at my parent's home. Never once did he ask to meet me in person to discuss anything that I'd read, or to check up that I'd even read the materials. Not that he really needed to do so. The man had been my professor for six years of the last seven years; he knew my work ethic. The boys were fortunately oblivious. That was perhaps a sad commentary on my life; the fact that my head stuck in a book was so commonplace that it did not even rate raising an eyebrow from my mates. Whereas if they'd bothered to even look at one of the titles they'd probably have a shit-fit. Ah, oh well, it's better this way.

After spending the morning breaking camp, lugging supplies around, traveling, soaking through my clothing, warding the crap out of the new site, and making camp once again, Snape summoned me through the mirror. Great. I looked like shit, and he wanted to chat. After hiding once again in the loo, I pulled the burning mirror out of my back pocket. This time it was wrapped in a scrap of wool and warned me without producing any first, second, or third degree burns.

"You rang?" I asked with a cocked eyebrow at my scowling co-conspirator. I swear, if scowling were a sport the wizard could play for England.

"The preparations have been made, I'd prefer we perform the ritual tonight," he said without preamble. Apparently I looked shocked at the pronouncement because he sneered at me. "What, the redoubtable Miss Granger is not prepared?"

"I just didn't expect this so soon." I gritted my teeth at the childish quality of my bewildered voice as it tripped past my lips without my bidding. Really, I must work harder at whipping my internal censor into submission when ridiculous things just drop out like that.

"Indeed," he said with another sneer.

Once again composed, I gave a mighty sniff and affirmed that I would be ready. He gave me lay lines to a rock circle appropriate for just such an auspicious event and a time to show up. Eight o'clock. Tonight. I nodded and closed the mirror's connection.

Here it was, the moment of truth. Could I trust Snape well enough to join him at some random location knowing full well I could be happily waltzing into a Deatheater trap? I hadn't given Snape any assurances when I'd asked him to portkey to my parent's house. Heck, he didn't even know that was the portkey destination, it could well have been an Azkaban cell. And though it seemed like I'd just walked up to the Malfoy manor, pitched a few stones, and carelessly apparated away when it suited me, I hadn't gone unprepared. Nor had I allowed myself to 'hang-out' with Snape unprepared either. But both of those events were on my time, my planning, and my terms. Showing up at some rock circle didn't sit right, but I had hours to get there and figure things out.

A wizarding Atlas identified the lay lines and the rock formation in Surrey. The rock formation was known, and catalogued, and referenced by name, but very little information was available. After cross referencing all available data with the limited library I'd brought with me, I came up with not much more than the Atlas had given me, which is to say nothing at all.

Making excuses with the boys was harder. At first I told them I had to do a welfare check on my elderly Aunt Eugenia, but they wanted to tag along hoping for tea and chocolate biscuits. So I leveled with them. I confessed that I'd lied about meeting Aunt Eugenia, but the truth was humiliating. I needed to see a physician for my cramps. My female cramps. With lots of female things involved. I hate this excuse, it only perpetuates the mythology of the weaker sex, but in all fairness it does the trick. The boys tried very hard to be supportive without actually turning green. And then treated me as if I were incubating the plague. I gathered my items, bid them a fond if not slightly stilted farewell and apparated to Surrey.

I'd been to a town in the vicinity of the rock formation on a muggle school trip once before. This was all before I'd known I was a witch. So I returned there, familiarized myself with the bus routes, and hopped on several of them until I got close enough to the site that I could walk. Which brought me back into mosquito territory, but as I've come to realize, this is all for the 'greater good,' which meant I needed to suck it up and deal. I just wish I knew of a clothing charm or a spell to keep those buggers away. Alas, not everything is fixable by magic, and I haven't the extra dosh for bug repellant or else I'd be bathing in it daily.

The woods were nearly as thick as the Forrest of Dean, but with a 'point me' spell I was able to locate the rock circle rather easily. I didn't dare approach the center, the damned place pulsed with a cold magic. I couldn't name the uneasy feeling that pervaded my bones, but something here spoke with a warning of danger. Then again it could just be nerves or an ill-settled roast beef sandwich. I prefer to think of myself as a realist and not given easily to fright.

Still, there was no point in actually sitting within the rock formation, no real need. So I found a good climbing tree, hoisted myself up, found a comfy branch, pulled out a book, and settled in for a long wait.

I did not wait long. Well, not terribly. Snape arrived a few hours later, though well before our eight o'clock rendezvous time. If he noticed me gangly hanging about in the tree he didn't acknowledge my presence. He directly began setting up all sorts of wards. Many I recognized as protective wards I'd used on our tent, but many of them I couldn't divine their intent. Oh well, it mattered not. Snape was alone and by all appearances keeping up his side of the bargain.

After warding absolutely everything within the perimeter he began to prepare the circle. I watched fascinated as he laboriously consecrated it, then poured table salt around the whole damn thing. It seemed very funny to me and a giggle nearly escaped giving me away. The idea that after lengthy incantations and quite a bit of heavy elemental magic he used table salt seemed perversely simple. Ah, but then I suppose sometimes the simplest of solutions is often times the best.

And wasn't that my aim for the evening anyway? Finding horcruxes is maddeningly difficult, it's not like a proper scavenger hunt where you go from one clue to the next. There didn't seem to be any clues at all. And the junk that Dumbledore left us may have meant something to him, or is probably supposed to mean something to us, but without some form of a key the puzzle is meaningless. Tonight we'd be cutting to the chase. Get rid of Voldemort. Everyone goes home happy. The end. Simplest solution.

"I know you're up there, you might as well come down," he called tonelessly. Well, that answered that question. But honestly did he expect that I'd just show up without being prepared?

I hopped down from the tree only slightly turning an ankle on the landing, swung my bag over my shoulder and sauntered over. I felt like saying, 'Yeah I twisted my ankle. I meant to do that. Going to make something of it,' but thankfully my internal censor was on the job this time. Snape eyed me as if he'd heard it anyway. I hate when he does that.

"Have you eaten?"

"A bit before."

He gestured idly to his own leather satchel laying on a rock, "There's food in there if you get hungry, we may be in for a long night."

"How so?"

"Ideally we won't be summoning just any demon. I'd like to prefer to deal with a higher class of demons known as harbingers rather than handle scavengers. If scavengers scent us they could descend upon the place and we'll all be lost. You, me, that bit of soul you're carrying, all of us. That's a fate I'd like to avoid if you don't mind."

"Agreed," I shivered.

"It may take some time before we can get a demon that's to my liking, and I'm sorry to say Miss Granger, but I'm very picky when it comes to dealing with demons."

I nodded, how could I dispute this? But then this is why I took the risk in the first place and called for Snape. I may not trust the sneaky bastard with much, I haven't forgotten or forgiven what he did to us, but this was his forte.

He perched casually on an outer lying rock and threw me a sandwich.

"Anything else I should know," I asked.

"Let me do the talking. I don't need your foolish Gryffindor interruptions. There will be no question and answer session with the demon. You will not have the chance to badger the demon or show off your knowledge of demonology. And in all things be careful with what you say, a demon won't hesitate to twist your words around for its own perverse pleasure, so speak what you mean plainly. Furthermore if you're asked to speak you'll keep your tone respectful and you will not under any circumstance make eye contact with the demon. Much like a legilimens can see within your pretty little head through eye contact, the demon can use it to draw your soul straight out from your body. Is that understood?"

"Yes, of course," I automatically responded, my throat dry, but not from the chicken salad. The books hadn't mentioned anything about making eye contact.

"I will need your power and cooperation with maintaining the protective circle and if need be combating anything that slips on through. We will offer the demon Tom Riddle's soul, give up the trinket, ensure that all the pieces of the soul are accepted and close the connection. You and I will drive whatever lingering dark magic clinging to this place away, at least to the best that we can, and then my dear Miss Granger, we will leave this place. And I hope never to see you again. If we can both manage that I will consider this night a success."

Numbly I agreed, wondering how this could be that when the moment was so completely real, finally happening, it felt so distant and hollow. For hours I felt that way. Mind and body numb as we worked to clear the site, scowering and pulling up underbrush, most if not all of it by hand. We never touched the inner circle that was rimmed in salt, and I couldn't find the voice to ask why. I doubt he'd appreciate the question. My sweat soaked body was a beacon of light to every mosquito within a hundred kilometers at least. They all honed in, found me, and feasted as I toiled.

Snape caught me as I slapped my hand on my arm catching three blood-fattened insects. They were the true harbingers of evil, and I was happy to see them die a horrible squishy death. He looked at me like I was half crazed, pointed his wand at me and muttered, _Hermatus_ and went back to pulling ivy from rocks. I was going to have to remember that one. Those little fuckers buzzed around me, but they didn't land.

By eight o'clock the site looked well maintained and cared for. There were also a lot more rocks than I noticed before. Not that any of them were particularly high. Unlike the big tourist traps, the biggest some of these monoliths got were to my waist, and I'm fairly short, even for a girl. I did however find one with what appeared to be futhark scratched in the side and running over the cusp, but I couldn't read it even though I'd taken top marks in Ancient Runes.

"Are you ready?"

I looked at him sharply, amazed that time had sped by so quickly and almost without my notice.

"Yes," I responded dumbly finding my voice.

"Splendid."

He took a position just outside the untouched salt encircled area and motioned me to join his side.

His deep baritone voice called out into the night, he confidently sang words I'd seen in the books, but daren't utter myself. Not once did he trip over a syllable or err in his enunciation. The wizard, the man, knew what he was doing and was well prepared for this. I felt confident in my reading, but what was reading when compared to serenading a demon?

The center of our stone circle flared before a decapitated head from a bad 1980s science fiction flick appeared, gnashing its' jagged teeth and howling as if the hounds of hell were pursing it. Which may have been correct. Snape flicked his wrist at the demon that was banging against the protective warding trying to get out and the demon disappeared, ostensibly back to whatever layer of hell it came from. I had a smart-ass comment prepared, but wisely kept my mouth shut.

None of the next seven demons were to his liking and they were all sent away. Each time he summoned one and got rid of it appeared to take a very serious toll on him. He'd stripped down to a linen shirt, but it was clinging to him from perspiration. I'd never realized how toned the man was and had to give him mad credit. That, and he was the most magically gifted wizard I'd ever seen in action. I'd never even seen the Headmaster put forth such effort.

Not that I passively stood still. Each time a new and disgusting demon popped on in the warding was further strained and I worked to keep the site integrity preserved, which in itself was draining.

Finally, when I really did think the whole night was going to be a draw as we couldn't keep exerting this level of energy a different kind of demon appeared. At first it was nothing more than a human shaped shadow, a dark opaque form with fuzzy edges, but as it began to coalesce and become more concrete a man appeared. Or what would pass for a man, I would make the mistake of calling him human. Without physically describing him as anything more than a man, he was simply not, for reasons I cannot describe. I could feel his presence, and he was not. I was curious, but my curiosity was not runaway enough to attempt to look to long at him for fear of making eye contact. But he was lanky and drawn, with whispering robes that flowed about him in nonexistent wind, their essence flowing in a way that fabric could never achieve. I kept my eyes focused on the robes and his extraordinarily long fingers.

He seemed to satisfy Snape's requirements, and for that I was grateful.

"Who is the originator that calls me forth? Who fashions my presence?"

Somehow I expected a big booming voice calling across the ages with some magnificent echoing effect, but the longer he stayed the more solid he became the more normal and surprisingly average his voice sounded. I was taken aback and therefore more on my guard. Somehow the idea of the demon becoming more solid the longer he stayed was a frightening thought.

"We do," Snape replied evenly. "I have called you, and she courts your favor."

"To what purpose Wizard?"

"The Witch has a soul to sell you."

Instinctively I held up the horcrux. It dangled from my fingertips, and though I held it lightly the soul inside seemed to scream and move. I got the distinct impression if it could have crawled up my arm and back around my neck it would have. What a delightful thought, the Dark Lord's soul fragment was a pussy.

"An interesting soul," he commented without betraying any hint of human emotion, the voice itself seemed mechanical. "To obtain all of the pieces will be a challenge, but then this is a worthy soul. I have not seen such an intriguing soul in three thousand years. Name your price and I'll consider your offer."

"My price is that you take the soul and never allow any piece of it to escape into our realm again, not ever, not for any purpose."

My head whipped so fast towards Snape that my muscles strained. That was what I was going to ask for. That was my plan. How did he know? He just took the very words from my lips. Bargaining with a demon meant that both sides had to be satisfied, a deal brokered with a demon was supposed to be a give and take, and since there wasn't anything I ever wanted from a demon, and the only thing I ever wanted in the world was to be free of the fucking pile of shit dangling from my fingertips, it seemed appropriate that this would be the bargain, but damned if Snape didn't beat me to it. Admirable that he should spend his one wish on ridding the world of Voldemort as well.

"Witch," the demon addressed me, "name your price."

Oh shit. My body clenched from toes to teeth. I couldn't just say, 'no, I'm good, really thanks.' I was included in on the bargain. We both summoned. I held possession of the soul; I had to name my price. If I fucked this up, I fucked up the whole bargain and all would be lost. More importantly the demon was becoming more and more corporeal by the minute, which really was never a good sign.

Think fast Hermione, I chanted. What do I want? If I could have anything in the world, what would I want? Nothing dark. Nothing that could be misconstrued. Nothing that could cause any form of pain or misery. What did Snape say? Watch my words. So, if Voldemort was dead and my whole future lay before me, what would I want? Power, no never, that was wrong to ask for, and a fool's path. Knowledge, from a demon that could be dangerous. Love. It was more than 'the power that he knows not.' There was never anything wrong with more love in the world. How often have I worried and fretted that I'd live my life alone and unloved, with nobody to 'have and to hold.'

But to ask for love from a demon was wrong. If love and lust potions weren't enough of a warning of the perversions from demanding love, I don't know what was. To ask for love from a demon might mean that he'd magically compel someone to love me, and dear gods I wouldn't want that. No, not love. Companionship? I felt his eyes upon me, heavy and probing, and yet I would not lift mine to meet his. But how to phrase it so as not to trap me, or anyone else?

"You desire company, a friend. More than a friend Witch, you desire a mate. You fear the darkness, you fear rejection, more than anything else you fear loneliness."

"I would never compel anyone to suffer my presence," I said strongly, nearly lifting my eyes to meet his.

"No Witch, you wouldn't. Your terms are acceptable. Our deal is sealed."

From my fingertips the bruised soul essence trapped in the locket released itself, flying swiftly to its new master. I shivered again as Snape banished the demon, repeating his words again and again in my head, sounding them out with my lips. 'No Witch, you wouldn't.' Did that mean I wouldn't, but he would? I never stated what I wanted. I never stated plainly that I didn't want him to compel anyone. I can only dearly hope I didn't just fuck myself.

Snape and I silently cleared the woods, erasing all traces of our presence and the Dark magic that'd been used. His eyes followed me and I knew he was somehow worried about my bargain.

He grabbed his satchel and I my handbag. The night was already well advanced, and no doubt the boys would be panicky, but before we both disapparated, walked away as we had planned, I turned my eyes to his and softly said, "Thank you."

He returned the gesture by inclining his head and murmured, "It was my pleasure. Thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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Chapter 5

Well, the old adage of bad news travels fast may be true, but good news, absolutely fucking fantastic news still takes a bit longer. It was three nerve-wracking days of camping out in the wilderness before word of Voldemort's death reached us, though that probably had more to do with the whole 'wilderness' thing. Ron jumped up and down screaming like a little girl who's been given her very own pony while Harry sat paralyzed with his mouth gaping open for a good twenty minutes, and I tried vainly to conceal my wide Cheshire grin. Those three days were the most excruciating days of my life.

But at least it was done. The story as I'm told, and I have been told, (over and over again and each time a bit more exaggerated) is that the Grim Reaper himself appeared before His High Scaliness as he sat enthroned and surrounded by every lowly bowing Deatheater. The Grim pointed his dead bony finger at Voldeshorts' dead bony body and his soul was sucked out leaving only a dead bony corpse behind. The Grim Reaper was now a national hero. Wouldn't Sirius have enjoyed that? Most god fearing people dropped to their knees and thanked the heavens for divine intervention. But most people were not god fearing, so the grand majority of witches and wizards took to the streets to celebrate.

When I arrived in Diagon Alley it looked like Bourbon Street the day after a parade. Trash, bottles, streamers, and puke littered the street, and revelry was still to be found in the pubs and nightclubs throughout Britain. I myself felt no compelling need to pour excessive amounts of alcohol down my gullet, but Ron did a fabulous job of making up for my teatotatling all by his lonesome.

Several weeks later, word of Snape's innocence hit the headlines. In an unbelievable _coup d'état_ a horde of exonerating evidence was unearthed clearing him of any wrong doing, and making him a bit of a local celebrity as well. Not that the Order was really ready to embrace him or anything, but I was at least glad to see it. I had my suspicions, and quite frankly I was happy that he was exonerated on his own without having to provide any form of testimony myself. I'd rather live in relative obscurity than be forever known as the Witch-Who-Summoned-the-Demon. Because to the best of my knowledge only Snape and myself know what really happened. Ferret-boy probably has a suspicion of what happened. And if anyone else figured it out I'd never be able to rid myself of Rita. I'd be forced to squash her. I'm rather fond of squashing nasty bugs, but not so keen on Azkaban.

When the world was quite finished from spinning in a furious mad pitch I completed my independent study projects that sufficed for school credit, took my leaving exams, walked away with several respectable NEWTs, and left the boys to bemoan repeating the year. Of course if they had only stuck the study schedules I tailored for each of them they wouldn't have anything to lament, but then what the hell do I know? (That's right… I'm just the Witch who sold Voldemort's soul to a fucking demon)

From there, I enrolled in a pilot program at Cambridge's Trinity College that essentially allowed me to continue to take upper level classes of my favorite disciplines without the Master/Apprentice commitment. It had the dangling carrot of potentially Mastering more than one subject; _however,_ it was a risky choice career wise because upon graduation if I failed to take a Mastery level I might be viewed by potential employers not as 'well-rounded,' but rather not specifically knowledgeable enough for any given profession. Despite the consequences, it was very necessary. The very idea of choosing a single subject to study turned my stomach. That would be like picking a favorite author, and then only be able to read his or her books. Or telling your children which child was your favorite. There are just some things that are morally objectionable.

Determined not to be bothered by it, I forged ahead in my studies with my well documented zeal for education only occasionally hindered by sleep or necessity for food. Fortunately I didn't have daily common-room clatter to contend with or nasty whispered comments about how unfashionable my rats nest hair was getting, or how frightfully harassed I was looking. The simple joy of not having anyone give a damn if I never showed my face outside of the classroom or library was liberating. I was finally free to not only take the course load I wanted, but maintain the study habits I'd long ached to. The only concession I was forced to make towards my new lifestyle was the requirement for caffeine.

I quickly became accustomed to bringing my Arithemancy homework to the late night bohemian coffee shop I frequented called Sacred Grounds. I discovered what I long suspected in that most people hate math, or anything that remotely looks like math, and Arithemancy appears so intimidating to the uninitiated with all the foreign symbols and squiggly lines that most muggles frown at it. Actually they frown at me wondering if there's something wrong with me that I'd actually want to do math. Blessedly the very few true math geeks out there are not given to hanging out at all night coffee bars, so I felt relatively safe with my little magical cross-contamination.

Then the oddest thing happened during the first half of my second semester. I saw Snape. Well, I must admit I was rather pleased to see the man up and about with color in his pale cheeks even if he did look a bit neglected, but then who was I to cast aspersions? The first time I saw him he was crossing the street uncomfortably dressed in a muggle suit and I barely caught a glance at him before he was gone, but there was no doubt in my mind it was him. Snape wasn't the kind of man you mixed up for someone else.

The second time I saw Snape was several weeks later queuing up for an espresso while I grabbed my skinny double-shot café latte, no foam. I gave him a hesitant smile to acknowledge his presence and damn if the man didn't look as if my presence was as welcome as a steaming hot stack of Hagrid's rock cakes. He fled as soon as his double espresso hit the counter.

I could only gather that he must live or work in the area because after that I started seeing him more frequently at the coffee shop; not that we ever talked, or held each other's eyes longer than a fraction of a second, but at least he stopped running away. Occasionally late at night, I'd feel like I was being watched, and every time I tore my eyes away from my laptop I'd find him sitting at a table rummaging through a newspaper or reading a battered old paperback. I never once caught him staring at me, but even if I had it wouldn't have changed anything. It wasn't like we had or ever would suddenly become friends. One shared demonic summoning experience does not negate years worth of mutual torture.

Yes, mutual torture.

I inflicted myself on his classroom. If I had asked one or two questions per class in my other lessons I invaded his like a charging Mongol army. It became a perverse pleasure to work him into a snit. He was such a thoroughly nasty and callous man that I made myself absolutely determined to live up to taunting jeers I'd received my very first day. After all, I'd worked out the House points to question ratio, and I almost never lost points for asking questions. As a teacher he could not honestly deduct points from a student actively engaged in the learning process. But given how violently unnerved he got from those insistent and never-ending questions the entire endeavor bore ripe fruit.

I am told that Gryffindors are as blunt as bludgers and not nearly as subtle or as clever as Slytherins, and yet all of Gryffindor was in on the joke, and I have a vague suspicion that neither Snape nor the Slytherins ever figured it out.

When summer came I went back to mundane suburban living at my parent's house with only the oddest twinge of regret at not seeing Snape.

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Thank you to everyone who left reviews. And if you haven't, thank you for reading anyway. Makes me feel all warm and squishy inside. A.V.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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Chapter 6

I can't quite put my finger on when seeing Snape at Sacred Grounds became a habit, but it just did. At the start of my second college year, he was there, like clockwork seated in the back left corner, back to the wall and facing my nook. Well, it didn't have my name on it, but since it probably had my butt-cheeks permanently imprinted into the Indian print cushion - it was my nook.

Most days my last class wrapped up around four, giving me plenty of time to run home and take care of whatever mundane necessities of 'real-life' were waiting for me, answer the post, and fork down some nutrients. By eight o'clock my butt was firmly squished into my nook, a café latte in one hand, my wireless mouse in the other.

Snape always entered a few minutes after me, and after ordering his double shot espresso, he would incline his head politely and murmur 'Good evening,' as he passed me. Always immaculately dressed in muggle-business casual, always with the paper tucked under an arm, always with boots that echoed on the distressed wooden floor boards to herald his approach. Which was also a new experience for me; Snape had been the silent stalker, and yet the hollow echo of his footsteps fit him perfectly.

One evening, early in my term he passed with his customary greeting, which I always returned, but this time with his worn leather satchel slung across his back. I kept tabs on him, covertly stealing glances, and nearly gave myself away by giggling as he pulled out a slick little laptop. He caught my smile and smirked; the man was obviously proud of his purchase, and had we been on real speaking terms I might have welcomed him to the new millennium.

I had only been scrolling through my transfiguration notes for a few minutes when his hissed cuss word hit my ears. Ah, isn't technology wonderful? Another glance at Snape showed him pushing at buttons and inspecting the notebook for some hidden answer to his problem.

Now, I fully admit I'm a geek for many things, but I'm not a big geek for computers. However, openly gaping at Snape's consternation I figured I could probably troubleshoot whatever was wrong. Most likely it was a user-error. Most modern laptops made things idiot-proof, but then there's no accounting for idiots. It was still a seminal moment when I rose from my seat and approached his corner.

"Hi."

Gott in Himmel, was I stupid? 'Hi?' was the best I could come up with? I really do suck at thinking on my feet. Oh well. Firmly telling myself to just roll with it I answered Snape's gaze steadily when he looked up at me with the crazed look that anyone ready to chuck a computer out a window wears.

"Uh, need some help?" _Stop fidgeting!_ I ordered myself.

"Miss Granger," he said, obviously trying to compose himself even though I could well observe his jaw clenching. It takes stones for a man to admit when he's been bested by bits of plastic and circuit boards. "This device appears to be malfunctioning."

"Is it? Well, computers are notoriously unreliable so I'm not surprised you're having difficulties." I knew better that to suggest that Snape might be the problem; I didn't fancy getting hexed in an alley way. Then again, he was fully capable of summoning a demon to chase after me.

"What are you trying to do?"

"I want to connect to the internet, but this damned machine won't let me, and there's a sign on the door clearly stating it's possible here."

I leaned over his espresso… oh dear gods did I just give Snape a clear shot of my cleavage?... and tried to look professional while scanning his screen with my eyes. I felt like standing up abruptly, but then I'd be the fool who just realized she'd given her ex-professor an eyeful. Instead I kept hovering, nonchalantly draping myself across the table as if it were my intention the entire time. Roll with it Hermione. I'm professional, he's professional, it means nothing.

"Ah, well there's this little switch on the side here. Do you see it next to the DVD drive? You need it flicked over to pick up Wi-Fi." I spoke calmly, staring only at the computer not willing to let him know I was painfully embarrassed. I turned the toggle switch and the Wi-Fi engaged picking up Sacred Ground's in-house network.

As I stood up, rigidly straight, I immediately noticed the pink blush spread across his cheeks. Snape blushes, isn't that interesting, of course it was because I'd just made an epic blunder, but who knew Snape had it in him to blush?

"Right, uh, Professor. That should do it." I stammered feeling as brave as Hagrid's fearless slobbering hound Fang, although I can't say why. It wasn't like he could take points from me or send a howler to my parents.

"Severus," he said quietly.

"Hm?"

"My given name is Severus. As my teaching days are firmly behind me I prefer not to be addressed as Professor."

Was this because of our past together? That whole 'we sold Voldemort's soul to a demon' thing? Somehow I was quite certain that just because he wasn't teaching anymore that he'd let anyone call him Severus. It was my turn to blush.

"Oh. If you don't teach anymore, what do you do?" I asked with a slight frown. I had a hard time imagining him anyplace but the bowels of Hogwarts, although offing the Headmaster was one way of putting a halt to your career. Wait… did I just start a conversation with the wizard?

"Presently? Not much. I've been trying to locate an acceptable form of employment and thought this machine might help me, but I see it's well beyond me."

This was where I was supposed to say, 'well, nice seeing you again… Severus' and plunk myself down back at my table. But then I'd never seen Snape looking truly vulnerable. Unemployed? Was that even possible? It seemed too common, too human, and not in the warm happy way I'd hoped he was human; this was ugly and raw. Snape was holding his head high, awaiting my judgment. It was obvious he thought I'd mock him or sneer at his turn of bad luck. Though, I should have realized that his change of wardrobe signaled his departure from the wizarding world. Acquitted did not signify accepted.

I glanced over my shoulder at my books and laptop just to make sure they hadn't run off. They were still there, per usual. And I was well ahead of my studies, per usual. Instead I opened my damn mouth and said what was perhaps the most infinitely stupid thing I've ever said since demanding that Ron see reason and stop following the Cannons who by all Arithemantic equations couldn't catch a one winged snitch on a cloudless day.

"Well if you have time I could show you how to use it… Severus."

To say the offer surprised him was a bit unnecessary, he gaped in the way that would have earned me a caustic comment from the wizard had our roles been reversed. I looked at him impatiently for my answer before he nodded and murmured a word of gratitude for my offer. It took me only a minute to pack my things up and join him, of course I spent that minute shaking my head and wondering what the hell possessed me. I swear that Gryffindor courage never quits, even when it obviously should.

I must say, not that I ever had a doubt, but Severus Snape is a fast learner. He picked up how to use the 'abominable muggle apparatus' rather easily. Although his two-fingered typing left much to be desired. I tried to show him the ASDF-JKL; touch-typing method, but it was too much to hope for that he'd get it in one go. All in all, our lesson was very productive. I helped him navigate and register for several employment websites and made sure that he was at least familiar with the basics. By the time I was lecturing on thumb drives I caught Severus stifling a yawn.

Sheepishly I realized that the all-night coffee bar meant we'd literally been plugging at it all night, and not with nearly enough caffeine.

"I'm sorry Severus; I just realized how late it is. I've got classes tomorrow, and I'm sure you've got things to do."

He nodded but didn't elaborate. I wasn't going to press either. Being unemployed had to be difficult for him.

"Why don't we pick this up another night," I offered.

By his astonished reaction it was obvious he expected my help to be a one-time deal. Which it started out being. Not that I anticipated spending four hours trying to explain the difference between the different types of memory his system had when I sat down. But it would be totally remiss of me to offer help and not make sure he had a thorough education. There were several programs that would definitely be beneficial for him in his job search, and lord knows if he tried to go to an interview and furnished a company with his resume and references written on parchment he'd never get a job.

And… and I was making excuses for myself. I liked the guy. Ok, maybe not in 'that' way, but still; I liked him well enough to want to sit up all night drinking lukewarm coffee and tapping on our computers.

Was that so wrong?

Was it?

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Please consider leaving a review. And to all my lovely reviewers, my heartfelt thanks. AV


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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Chapter 7

"And?"

He shook his head slowly, the black lank ribbons of hair concealing his eyes. The hair had definitely been a point of contention between us. I rationalized that if he wanted to land a muggle job he needed to make more of an effort to look muggle. Not that I could see him with a short cropped haircut, mind you, but perspective employers would see the long hair and make negative assumptions about his character. Whereas Severus bitterly countered, they'd make those negative assumptions once they got to know him. The haircut was merely window dressing.

For the moment I was grateful for his layer of protective shielding, he deserved his privacy. The weeks of rejection had been humiliating for the proud wizard, and I could only empathize. Which was maddening because I wanted to do much more than that.

During this time I'd become very protective of Severus and wanted to take away his hurt and 'make it all better.' Of course he refused to stand for any of it; he was much too prideful… and goat-stubborn. But we had an interesting relationship. He'd grumble and gripe; I'd offer my sincere compassion and understanding. He'd rant and rave that he neither wanted it nor needed it; and then he'd kindly shut up. Usually happier knowing that I was supportive of him. Not that he'd admit that either. But I didn't need him to draw me a diagram to cotton on.

"Well, you could always fascinate them next time. It works for Hollywood witches," I remarked glibly in a poor attempt at infusing humor into the situation.

Fascination was honestly the only explanation I could come up with for why so many no-talent witches and wizards had movie careers, despite the fact that they made bombshell after bombshell.

"Believe me my dear, I tried," Severus said grimly.

"What!" I shrieked. I was kidding, he knew better than to believe I'd condone unethical behavior. Ok, maybe that's a bit of a stretch, my personal history is littered with unethical behavior, but I always had a really really good excuse. "Please tell me you didn't."

"Fine," he sighed, "I didn't"

"You did, didn't you?" Slytherins don't make stupid mistakes. I asked him to tell me he didn't. He repeated my words verbatim without actually admitting to anything. The sneaky bastard used a fascination spell. Figures.

"Oh Severus," I moaned rubbing my eyes. When I looked up he was staring at me intently.

"What am I going to do with you?"

"Anything you'd like Hermione," he said with a broad smirk that nearly passed for a grin.

Wait.

Hold up a second.

It was entirely possible that Severus was flirting with me.

My eyes skittered rapidly across the coffee shop background taking in business commuters hurriedly sipping their sweetly flavored concoctions, Amanda plucking at the strings of the guitar she really didn't know how to play, Ling composing more depressingly bad poetry for tomorrow's slam, and other assorted yahoos that frequented the place. Anywhere but Severus.

Slowly I repeated the conversation back to myself. Yep, the wizard had just made a pass at me. Now, I'm not some blushing never-been-kissed fourth year, but Severus is… intense. Very intense. A relationship with him would be… I'm not sure. Definitely more mature than being manhandled by Ron.

Don't get me wrong, Ron has his good points. He's, um, funny. Knows a shitload about Quiddich, (a shitload being my opinion on the aforementioned subject). He respects his Mum and women, which is also positive. And, uh… oh fuck it.

Ron's a pussywhipped moron who needs his mother to knit his initials on his sweaters so that he'll be able to identify them in the piles of clothes strewn about his room. In the sloppy piles of dirty clothes strewn about in his foul nasty smelly room; which I swear he's never lifted a finger to clean. In fact I doubt the boy has ever attempted to straighten and/or organize anything in his ever-loving life… wait Hermione. Calm down. Breathe girl. You can do this.

A relationship with Severus would be, hmm… My toes curled up in my dirty trainers, as did my fingers. And if the moisture on my upper lip, and two lower lips was anything to go by, then the thought apparently had merit.

Actually, and I'm going to sound like a trollop, but if I could jump that man's bones even in the back alley  
way, I would. Right, definitely a trollop. Wanton woman. Jezebel. I'd so totally shag Snape. Greasy hair, black frock coat, and all. Oh, now there was a thought.

And I think… well, I think maybe, Snape would have me. And if that wasn't something to make me squeal like a little girl I don't know what was.

But for the moment he was staring at his double espresso so intently I was left wondering if there's a new divination technique to studying coffee grinds. Where had all his bold confidence gone? Ah, probably because I hadn't responded to his subtle flirting favorably. He probably felt rejected, again.

It maybe time to let Severus know exactly what I'd do to him, given the chance.

"Wow, anything I'd like," I said in what I hoped sounded seductive, "how can I pass such an attractive offer like that up?"

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	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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Chapter 8

Severus finally found a job. Took us (yes, us) long enough, and it wasn't a dream job by any stretch of the imagination, but he confessed his funds were running disastrously low and it was a much needed job. Therefore we celebrated. Ok, cheap wine in paper cups in my dorm room was not a massive blow-out celebration, but our enthusiasm more than made up for it.

It took two months to find him employment as a math and science tutor at a private learning center for children who needed extra attention. Neither one of us said it, but we were both worried about how long he'd last at the job. It was the sort of thing that required patience and a willing to break ideas down into easily digestible bits and pieces for well… children he'd just as easily call dunderheads. Oh, and berating, threatening, and punishing were generally frowned upon by the establishment. But it was one-on-one learning and in groups no larger than five kids. Hopefully that would give him the ability to keep his temper in check. I thought it was also possible he might bond a bit with the kids and the experience would be mutually beneficial… if he kept his wand at home.

I was also worried that I'd stop seeing him at nights, in our place.

Yes damn it, our place. Our table. Our routine. I'd get there first, and order the first round of coffee, he'd come in and by 10pm he'd buy the next round of coffee. Somewhere around 1 or 2, depending on how interesting our conversations were we'd part. But it was usually around 2, because our conversations were always interesting. But now he'd have 6 am wakeups, and a real job, and responsibilities, and where did that leave me?

Gods, it almost felt like I'd broken up with a boyfriend. Wait, that's not right.

We'd just flirted, Severus was too painfully shy, though he'd call it chivalrous, to take anything I said seriously. And I was, well, too damn chickenshit to act blatantly whoreish to get the man I wanted. Bold I could do, whorish, uh, not so much. Besides, I wanted a real relationship with the man, not a fuck. Throwing myself at him for a little slap and tickle was not the answer.

Even though the sexual tension in the air between us was suffocating.

Severus Snape could heat up my engine with a well-pointed stare. No, not a glare, he never did that to me anymore. I wasn't some sweaty palmed potions student; that much I knew to be certain. He didn't undress me with his eyes either, which would have been creepy and a bit lecherous, but damn if there wasn't a spark of desire that coursed through us that just made me want to melt into him. Or rather rub myself against him like a pussy cat.

Again, I could hear Ron's voice in the back of my head almost mocking me. 'Mental' he'd called me. Perhaps there was something to that.

Best not to dwell.

When he didn't show up Monday I ordered a double espresso for myself and raised his drink in a mock salute to him.

When he was absent again on Tuesday I did not order another double espresso in his honor. Besides, the stuff is nasty. It only reinforces the stereotype that coffee's just burned bean juice; which it is.

Wednesday night when he stood me up again; I left early.

I didn't return either. I didn't want to see his empty place mocking me. It felt like I'd poured myself into our fucked up and deflicted relationship and once he'd gotten what he wanted from it, he'd fled. Well, at least I hadn't slept with him.

Where did that come from?

No, best not to dwell. He was obviously done. And so was I. I'd been used. So very well used, and Gods did it hurt.

But it unfortunately meant that I couldn't go back to Sacred Grounds. I shuddered to think of running into him there again. What if I saw him at our booth, sipping our coffee, slowly punching his keyboard. What if he wasn't alone?

What if I'd been replaced?

I couldn't survive that.

I finished my term, and then the year locked away in my dorm room, brewing coffee in my percolator. It was much cheaper, and damn if it didn't taste like it. Regardless of the quality of the grounds it always tasted like dry bitter ash in my mouth.

I spent more time during the summer bouncing between my parent's home and the Burrow. Really I was just trying to stay busy. Filling my days with mindless activity with one singular goal in mind, the same goal as I had the day I realized that Severus was gone - to keep my mind off him. At the rate I was going I could have graduated early even from the accelerated studies program.

The boys were happy to have me at least, and affectionately welcomed me back into the fold. Ron welcomed me a bit more than strictly necessary, and well, even though Severus had never laid a finger on me, the wizard had spoiled me for every man who came after him. That, and Ron wanted to treat me like an animal at a heavy petting zoo. I guess that kind of behavior was fine for our school days, but I wanted something more. Something substantial. Someone else.

Someone with a brooding temper, an absolute menacing wit, and the kind of smooth sex appeal that crippled me and left me in a puddle of warm dripping desire. And he hadn't touched me. Not even a single fucking kiss. What the hell was wrong with me that not even Snape wanted me?

What the hell was wrong with me in that I still wanted him?

Despite everything.

I must be mental.

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Thank you for your review, you make the writer Squee in joy. Yea! AV


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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Chapter 9

The doorbell rang, and since my parents weren't home I thudded down the stairs to swing the door open for the delivery guy. I expected the delivery guy. I was caught entirely off guard though when I saw Severus standing on my stoop looking as if the world had come to an end. His shoulders were hunched and he was more than a little bit straggly. I instantly felt pity in my heart, but pushed that quickly away.

"So, let me guess, you got fired and you're looking for help again?" I said with as much bitterness as I could muster hoping to drive the man away from my door. "Or are you here for a hand out?"

Severus' head shot up immediately, his lips curling into a customary sneer that had been long etched into my psyche. His lips quirked as if he was fighting for a comeback, and I couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt. What could he say? If he responded in kind with harsh words I'd throw the door in his face. And placating words weren't in the man's nature either.

"Well?" I prompted.

"I came to ask your forgiveness," he muttered so softly I had to incline my head just to catch the words.

"For what?" I asked, wrinkling my brow. "For taking advantage of my good nature, or for leaving me without a goodbye."

I watched him shuffle, which was very un-Snapelike behavior, but then over the previous school year I'd discovered several things about the man that were very un-Snapelike. He'd been a man, a regular man, type-cast as a cruel character and lived up to the billing to the best of his abilities. I didn't want to dwell on how much we had in common in that respect. Most people view me one-dimensionally as the walking-talking encyclopedia and don't look much further than that.

I knew he wanted to come in the house, he was obviously very uncomfortable standing there, but I held the door with my hand only allowing him a glimpse of the foyer.

"You stopped coming," he whispered.

"No, you stopped coming." I corrected. For the briefest of seconds I was reminded of the way small children fought. 'He hit me.' 'She punched me first.' 'I'm telling Mummy on you.'

Severus ran his finger through his stringy black locks, ostensibly to keep them out of his eyes, but they flopped in his face the moment he drew his hand back.

"Yes," he admitted with a gravelly voice, his eyes darting everywhere but my face. "For the first several days I'd come home completely wiped and so exhausted that when I drop in bed I was out until the alarm went off the next morning. I should have said something. I should have told you, but then you were gone."

"Oh." I should have had something more intelligent to say, perhaps a word of advice, but I had nothing. Except for 'oh' which sounded so very intelligent. That actuality had occurred to me, knowing that he'd have to adjust to a new schedule and handle difficult kids all day, but I'd been angry. And hurt. And not willing to forgive. He hurt me by not being there. He was my friend and he left. He was my… companion and I felt abandoned.

We stood there, both feeling distinctly awkward and I realized I had the absolute power at the moment. Just as I had offered to show him how to use a computer back those long months ago I could either let him in or close him out.

I didn't want him gone.

"Well," I said slowly, opening the door wider, "I've got coffee in the house, it's nowhere near our usual standards, but it's palatable." Actually I thought it was right foul shit, but then I wasn't much of a coffee drinker anymore. It just wasn't my cup of tea.

I stepped aside, holding my breath, waiting to see how he'd react.

Severus straightened, bolstered by the offer, his posture returning to his normal ramrod perfection. Something I'd always admired about him. And walked gracefully through the house to the back kitchen. I smiled when he took my father's seat at the table. This had been the scene of the crime, well nearly; it was here in my parent's kitchen that we'd plotted our mayhem. Strange how life leads us full circle sometimes.

Working efficiently I blended beans from French and Italian roasts. Put them through the hand grinder and filled the percolator. While it perked I sat at the table, one leg kicked over the other, fingers drumming impatiently on the table, and not knowing what to say to the man who'd been so dear to me for so long, and now felt like a stranger.

"Hermione," he rasped. His hand came up, covering my drumming fingers, stopping their nervous tapping.

I lifted my eyes to his dark glittering orbs and was mesmerized by their depths. I don't know how I knew, but it was plain. He loved me. I didn't need to hear the words, he'd written them on his heart, which he wore openly. Like a Gryffindor.

When was it that I realized I love him in return. Had it been days, months, or seconds ago? Maybe I knew the moment I heard his powerful silken voice singing chants to the darkness to call forth a demon.

I stiffened in my chair, unwilling to listen to the nagging voice that suggested the one thing I'd always feared and consequently kept out of my thoughts.

"I don't think this is right." I said hoarsely, my voice tripping over the heavy blanket of unsaid words in the air. The feelings of apprehension and anticipation that clouded us both. I swallowed thickly, "I don't think we should see each other again." My words were nothing but hollow whispers but they were sharp enough to strike true into Severus' chest, the knife twisting as I refused to meet his gaze. Refused to see the harm I knew I was doing to him.

"I'm so afraid you're only here because of a mistake I made in bargaining with a demon." There, I'd said it. The haunting fear that made me keep him at arm's length even when I knew he wanted more. Even when I'd seen the desire to hold me, kiss me, and make love to me, when we were sipping wine from paper cups.

"Yes," he said stiffly. "It's possible. I've given our situation much consideration over the years."

"Our situation?" I asked, my voice gone a bit shrill even to my own ears. Our emotionally charged conversation deftly reverting to academics, or at least from my perspective. I could handle this. An analytical discussion of demons was much better than admitting my desire to run my own fingers through his lank stringy hair. A desire that I'm perfectly ready and willing to deny.

"I felt something in the circle, as we said good night." Severus began softly using his best lecture voice. "When our eyes connected while saying good bye I felt an unnatural tug." He paused to frown at his own description and memory. "I don't know if you or I will ever truly know whether that tug was some form of obligation taking effect or the byproduct of our unique experience. Perhaps it was simply then I realized that I was quite taken with you."

My jaw was open, which must have looked quite unseemly, as my lips worked to form vowels and consonants that should, ideally would, form words. But words did not come. We had never spoken of that night, and indeed he'd never confessed any feeling of magical compulsion. A shiver rocketed down my spine.

"I followed you. I've been watching your movements since then. I admit it took me quite awhile to work up the nerve to see you, or rather, let you see me, but I can't help but follow you Hermione."

"No. No no no no no," I repeated, violently shaking my head. _No! _This was wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. If he loved me it was because we had made a connection, a wonderful connection over coffee and discussions as odd and varied as muggle philosophers and Sybil Trelawney's penchant for singing boy band lyrics at the head table.

"I bought a laptop to impress you. I thought maybe if I looked like the kind of people you knew and hung out with you'd notice me."

The chair scraped loudly across the linoleum as I backed away from the table, my arms out in front of me trying to hold back the revelations, trying to undo the damage.

"I wasn't even that keen on the coffee," Severus sneered making a face of distaste, "In fact, I think I might actually hate espresso."

"Severus, you've got to go. We've got to stop this. It's madness!" I cried, backing towards the counter tops. "Please go," I pleaded.

His brow furrowed, his voice rich but without malice or accusation, "Why Hermione? Can't you see I'm trying to tell you I'm in love with you?"

Hot tears swam in my vision, "Not like this," I choked. "I don't want you to love me because of some demon's bargain; I want you to love me for me."

"I know," he said serenely. His rich voice even and calm in comparison to my near hysterics. He was approaching me, and suddenly my back at the counter top was a very bad idea. I felt cornered and boxed in, ready to hyperventilate and scream at the injustice. The man I loved, yes, I'll admit that now, the man I loved was forced to act this way. Magically compelled. I was a fool. What's more I felt like a fool in danger as he stalked me.

Severus' palm came up to stroke my cheek and his thumb wiped away tears I was only vaguely aware of from streaming down my face.

He stepped closer, pressing me against the cabinetry, his pelvis grinding into mine. Despite my own pain and fear at the entire situation the contact was heavenly and I could only close my eyes and lean against his warm broad chest.

"I don't want this," I sniffled, no doubt leaving ugly snot bubbles on his pressed work shirt. "I never wanted anyone to be forcibly bound to me."

"I know," he repeated again, running his long fingers through my hair, snagging occasionally on my tangles, but not commenting on the hag's hair I knew it looked like. His hands were soothing as they ran up and down my body, blessing me with the contact I'd been craving. The desire I'd felt for him sitting in a little all night coffee bar where occasionally when our knees would touch or our hands would brush a little bit of electricity would rush through me at the connection.

"I don't think we'll ever know if there is magic involved here or not," he said slowly, "But I'd rather not think on that possibility if you don't mind. I wish you'd just enjoy what we have… what we had," he corrected himself. His voice laced with pain and self loathing.

"Oh Severus," I moaned, gripping his waist tighter. When had my arms come up to embrace him? Nevermind. "I wanted to ask what you asked for. I wanted to make sure that Voldemort would never be able to transcend to our world again. I never meant to ask for anything else."

He planted a warm comforting kiss on my forehead. "I thought so," he mumbled his breath hitting my ears as his kisses trailed lower. His beautiful nose tracing a path on the side of my face. Yes, it was beautiful; no I won't apologize for finding him beautiful. Or sexy. Through lowered lids I saw the pulsing vein in his neck thumping in tune with his heartbeat, his exposed neck right before me. The top two buttons on his shirt casually open, revealing a few dark hairs beneath. I swear it was the sexiest damn thing I've ever seen.

He drew back slightly to pierce me with his penetrating stare.

"Hermione, if you had spoken first and requested that Voldemort's soul not be allowed to enter our plane of existence, do you know what I would have asked for?"

Struck down by the face of the wizard I knew I wanted to be my lover I could not answer him properly and could only manage to shake my head.

"The same thing you asked for. Though I'd have less compunction about someone being magically compelled to love me… could you, Hermione? Could you love me?" His eyes held only the smallest trace of tear as if he not only feared rejection, but expected it.

"Yes, Severus," I responded, my throat dry. "I could love you. I already do."

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Awww, isn't that sweet? Schmootches, AV


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything recognizable to the HP-Universe, JK Rowling does. I'm not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.**

**Warning: This work of fanfiction is rated Mature because of language and adult content. If you are not of the appropriate age to read this fic, please do not read any further.**

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Chapter 10

As his lips touched mine, I trembled under his touch, feeling his caressing tongue tentatively probing. Asking for admittance. His lips begging for me to open up to him.

Hadn't he known I had already opened the door? I knew when I offered him coffee I was offering myself.

When his tongue touched mine, I was flooded with the arousal that'd been toying with my senses, in that sudden moment, lips locked fiercely in a kiss that literally sucked the breath out of me; I knew I didn't care anymore. I should care, but I didn't. Magically compelled or not, I wanted this wizard for as long as possible. For as long as he'll have me.

His hands, curling into my waist lifted me up and deposited me on top of the counter, I sat with a small thud and wound my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and my lips around his. The only sensation registering was Severus, his sensual movements against me, the uniquely male hardness that pressed into my feminine softness. He growled possessively and I could have whimpered at the sound. 'Possess me' I would have begged, had I wanted to pull away from his sharp tangy kisses, but his hands were twined around my hair gripping me tight into him, kissing me so divinely that my bones felt light as though I was intoxicated.

When my greedy fingers grabbed at his shirttails wrenching them free of his trousers did he only then seem to realize we were both clothed, and both interested in carrying our snogging much further. Severus pulled my bum closer into him holding me close against the hard planes of his body.

"Where?" he breathed in my ear.

"Upstairs," I managed.

Still gripping me around his waist he slid me off the countertop, through the kitchen and up the stairs. He only paused midway on the landing to push me into a tight corner to nibble at the arched column of my throat until I moaned against him and begged him to fuck me hard on the stairs. It was only with a great sense of bereavement that he pulled away and tottered the rest of the way to my room.

The fact that I was plunked down on the bed in a most unseemly manner mattered not, it was the man in front of me that commanded all my attention. I had never until that moment realized how truly exquisite the man was. The gods themselves had fashioned his body with the same generosity as they had blessed his mind. Oddly, the humbling way his glittering eyes were drinking me in, tracking my movements as he studied me gave me the distinct impression his thoughts were very much the same about me. The persistent erection threatening to poke through his cheap trousers gave me very little doubt that he desired me, or at least my body, but it was Severus himself, those unfathomable eyes that made me believe he wanted me. I had no doubt as he descended upon me intent on devouring my body.

Suddenly clothing seemed like such a bother.

A monumental bother when all I wanted to do was wrench his stupid fucking polyester trousers off. But doing so while he nibbled on an earlobe, his large calloused hands tracing nonsensical patterns on my stomach and thighs was an impossible task. Certainly I'd encountered belts before, buttons, and zippers too for that matter, but undoing such things while every bit of my being was trying to melt into him clothing or not seemed insurmountable. Surely there were Tri-Wizard cup challenges easier than this. I wanted him. I wanted to fuck the shit out of Severus, _Now damn it! _

"Wait!" I cried, sharply drawing breath to speak as Severus seized up his hands instantly stilling as his eyes jerked up to mine. I could read it all in one glance, he feared rejection. Expected it. Still?

"Please," I croaked, "I can't do this." I watched his face collapse and had my legs not been tightly wrapped around his waist I would have kicked myself. Hmm… perhaps I should unwrap legs to remove trousers.

"I… understand," he whispered, his head bowed in shame. He moved to get off me; I stilled his hasty fleeing by squeezing my thighs around his delicious torso.

"What? No… I can't get your pants off. I mean, I uh…" at his shocked wide-eyed expression I wanted to hide my burning red face. "Could you please undress for me," I squeaked, "I'm having no luck whatsoever with your buckle, and I'd really _really_ like for it to be gone."

A stock still Severus Snape leaned down to taste my lips; his own mouth was scorching and heavenly at the same time. The pent up passion in his kiss, the intensity of all of his kisses robbed me of all higher brain functions. My train of thought derailed. I could only feel. The pressing intensity of his weight against mine, the heavy heat of his hardness along my inner thigh, his pants. Pants. Yes, that was it. Oh they definitely had to go. All of it.

With a low growl of triumph Severus ended our kiss and smirked, "For you I shall never wear this belt again."

He _evanesco'd_ the belt to places unknown and retreated from the bed leaving me instantly wanting.

Severus stripped, unbuttoning his shirt revealing the toned muscles I itched to feel, to taste. His boots dropped heavily to the floor, their loud clunks serving as little wake up calls that I was much too overdressed for the occasion as well.

A short tangle of limbs and lips later and both of us were liberated as Severus pounced on me and I finally sighed in pleasure to feel him, all of him, pressed against me as it was meant to be. His fingers fiddled with me below, touching my nubbin and pulling weak teasing orgasms from me, little gasping shards of ecstasy. He coaxed responses from my slick heat as he paid worshipful attention to the undersides of each breast. How did he know? I couldn't keep climaxing by myself. It was wonderful, amazing, but not enough, not what I desperately needed, what we needed.

I tried to return the pleasure, my movements not as fluid or skilled, but the enthusiasm was there.

"Yess!" I hissed. Enthusiastic indeed. I only wanted him to stop teasing me. Later. Another time, not now. Now I needed him. My grip on his strong beautiful cock lead him to where I wanted him; the empty aching place where he was supposed to be.

Please," I sobbed brokenly. Something was missing. He was everything, and yet without him moving inside me it wasn't enough.

He responded to my touch, prodded me tentatively with the tip of his swollen cock, and I shuddered again at the contact. Nothing could be better than this. One hand pulled up to cup my face, compelling me to lock eyes with him as he stretched me slowly. I moaned at his first thrust, the pleasure radiating from my clit, my womb, scorching outwards into my bones, the knitted fibers of my being. Our being. My eyes widened as my body did to accept his girth. A quick glance down at our joined hips made me moan again at how absolutely fucking sexy it was to witness Severus' glistening thick shaft disappearing into me.

"Perfect," I whispered to myself.

"Agreed" he responded.

I buried my head into his shoulder, to smell and taste him. My hands curling around his firm arse admiring his form before digging in to pull him into me, to rock with my hips as Severus long deep strokes overcame my senses. I jerked with his body, moved as he moved, our coupling so sweet, as the harmony of our sex filled the air.

It was everything, blurred but beautiful, completely satisfying, but we were not yet satisfied. Just as I was about to cry out for more, sing for him to take this tortured wanting ache from me, Severus whispered. At first I had only heard his mumble, but then he repeated himself.

"Be mine, Hermione Granger. Stay with me and be mine," his raw voice softly pleaded.

I would have answered my affirmative immediately had my body not been so desperate to draw a deep breath, Severus' invasion was overwhelming and rational thought was not forthcoming, but a screaming "Yes!" was miraculously wrenched from my lips. One small syllable that summed up all I felt. And I meant it. Every bit of it.

The Wizard could have me. I was his, as long as he was mine. His darkened eyes, normally threatening, were laced with storm clouds of pure lust and utter possession and they pierced me utterly. He was mine. We belonged with each other. We belonged to each other. We belonged.

Severus continued his battering assault, whether spurred on by my cries or the contractions of my impending climax I'll likely never know, but every bit of him pushed into me, in a desperate drive to become one. I grabbed skin, pressed myself arching and aching to come with him, to meet the need. My throat opened up to sob my release as I melted in his rhythm. My song meeting his, to make our song, perfect in pitch, as our essences combined.

Together we lay, unmoving, Severus' beautiful weight still atop my prone body. His softening cock still lodged deep within me where it belonged. Perfect.

Perfect.

"Mine," I growled possessively, nipping the salty flesh of his neck.

A panting Severus raised his head momentarily from pressing into my bushy locks to give me a wicked smile of smug satisfaction.

"I couldn't agree more," he whispered.

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An Epilogue… of sorts.

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I suppose you would want to interrogate me as to why I was in a relationship with Severus. Lord knows the boys had when they finally pulled their heads out of their arses long enough to notice someone other than themselves and then even more slowly realized that their best friend had been openly seeing _'The Git'_

And I'll put it to you plainly, in very much the same way I had explained it to the boys, 'Piss off, it's none of your damn business.'

Truthfully, neither my husband nor I will ever know precisely what makes our relationship work. Whether it's the number of things we have in common, or our similar sense of sarcastic humor, how we just get along comfortably with each other, how our personalities complement each other, or whatever.

But then, can anyone explain how any relationship 'clicks?'

Both of us are aware that there's _ahem_, a small probability that a being from a hellish plane of existence might possibly have done an tinsy-winsy bit of dark magic on us to be drawn together, but you know what? _Does it really matter? _We certainly don't give a damn. We're too busy being happy, or shagging like nifflers, or banging like storm shutters, or screwing more than carpenters, or … oh hell, it works, and we're not complaining. Why mess with a good thing?

A very good thing.

So, if you wouldn't mind terribly, quit being a nosy Parker and kindly bugger off.

_Fin_

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I hope you've enjoyed reading this very short piece as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I was stuck in the Atlanta airport and had to do something. Schmootches, AV


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